Chapter five: The Lords of Rivendell

'Elrond, you built us Rivendell,

A place to love, a place to dwell

Elrond, you ruled in the homely home

That comforted all who lonely roam.

'Elrond, you left us Rivendell,

The valley that, the stories tell

Is well loved as the land of song

That waits after a road so long.

'But no longer is a homely home

The vale to which the lonely roam,

For here the lonely lords do dwell

The three of whom the stories tell:

'Celeborn who made his home

Where wild are the woods to roam

Would not take the road so long

Which leads into West of the Song.

'Elrond gave, so annals tell

Life to sons who still here dwell

The two heirs of Rivendell

The twin lords of Rivendell.

'Elladan who will wait long

Before he sings the wedding song

Elrohír, who cannot tell

Where his loved one might now dwell.

'To the vale but few do roam

And still we love to call it home

Perhaps it now sings a sadder song

We fear the lords may not rule long.'

Niphredil half spoke, half sang the poem. Her voice was not very beautiful, but somehow the word touched her companions. As she spoke the last 'long', they saw the Ford open before them.

'Oh, how sad a poem!' Elena exclaimed.

'Indeed. Where did you learn it?' Neldohír asked.

'I wrote it myself the last time I visited here. Together with your mother, actually. Neldoren taught me the form in which seven words always end the lines, repeated each as many times.'*

They crossed the Ford and were soon on the path. Halfway up the ridge they were met by guards.

'Who comes?' They asked.

'Far is the time when song greeted visitors here instead of spears and arrows. I am Niphredil the Green and here are my companions: Gilliam and Elena Brandybuck, siblings from Bree and my distant relatives. Neldohír, son of Neldoren, daughter of Thingol. Galadriel, daughter of Gimli, son of Glóin, and journeyman jewelsmith. Mircal son of Elessar, prince of Gondor. And Narannon Peradan from Starlight Village.' They all did their bows and curtsies. The guardsmen shoved their respect by bowing to both princes. At the sound of Narannon's name they frowned. The one in charge said:

'We greet you all but we may not welcome you until we have seen the face of this Peradan. Please remove your hood.'

Narannon obeyed.

'Yrch! He has orcish blood. Is he your prisoner?' The guard asked, not bothering to hide his disgust.

'No, he is my friend. I trust him more than I trust you.' Niphredil stated.

'A wizard ought to know better. No orc nor half-orc may enter Rivendell.'

'Indeed? Then I will not step further either.'

'Nor I,' declared Neldohír.

'Very well. The rest of you may come if you wish.'

'We would rather not be separate', Niphredil said, 'but some of us could use your hospitality and take a week or three practicing their weapon skills, and get us gear to cross the mountains. I think it is best if we do it like this: Mircal, you are the nephew of Elladan and Elrohir, and the son of Celeborn's granddaughter. I think you will be glad to meet your relatives. Take the siblings and Gala with you. I put them under your responsibility as the strongest and the one of highest position, but remember your age and remain humble. I will make a camp in the hill east from Rivendell, with Neldohír and Narannon, and we will spend our time practicing our battle skills. You should also take the opportunity to ask the elves teach you what they can. Elena, it would be good if some small weapon would be found for you. Like a knife. But Gala and Gilliam also have other business, and because I do not wish you to beg for gifts if none are freely given, I give Gilliam and Elena my purse.' Niphredil gave Elena a bag so heavy with gold that the young maiden had to hold it with two hands.

'Thanks! Um, Gilliam, would you please carry this?' The girl asked, staggering with the weight.

Soon the farewells were said and Niphredil promised she would come for them when the weather was good to continue the journey, not before two weeks had passed but certainly before a full month was gone.

Niphredil, Neldohír and Narannon took as much baggage as they could carry, leaving the wagon to the others. Then they picked a path that led up into the forested hills and away from the Elven Realm. Elena sighed.

'This is not as I imagined. I wonder if Niphredil's song is true.'

'Cheer up! Just look at the landscape – that at least is no disappointment,' Gilliam said.

'Yes, my love. But I at least wished they would all be here when –' Gala began. Gilliam hushed her;

'Elena knows, but Mircal doen't. Let's surprise him and everyone else!'

The lords of Rivendell stood at the front door of the Last Homely House. As they had proceeded through the valley, more and more elves had joined them. When Mircal saw his relatives, he forgot all dignity and ran to them.

'Elladan! Elrohír! Lord Celeborn! I haven't seen you since I was a kid!' He yelled, reaching out to embrace them.

'And we see that you have grown into a man, Mircal.' Elladan hugged his nephew tightly. Elrohír was more reserved in his greeting, and Celeborn looked at the company in deep concern.

'Where are the rest of you? We heard from Neldohír's family that he had joined you, and I would be surprised if the seventh member was not found by now. And where is Niphredil the Green?'

'Your guardsmen did not let our seventh member enter the valley.' Gala explained.

'Why?'

'Because Narannon is half orc.' Mircal said gravely.

'I see. Does he speak the black speech?' Celeborn asked.

'He knows it, but he never speaks it. Why do you ask?' the prince inquired.

'It has been decided that that evil speech must never be spoken here. That is why orcs, no matter their innocence, are not welcome. But that doesn't explain why Niphredil and Neldohír are absent, too.' Celeborn still did not smile.

'You think we would leave our companion alone, your lordship? We care for him. They shall spend the time practicing their battle skills, and hunting, and we intend to do the same.' Gilliam declared.

'Really? Perhaps it is best this way, then. Our subjects would feel uncomfortable seeing Narannon wield a weapon here. We will help you as best we can, but we have no match to the White Knight among our masters.' Celeborn told them. Elena was suddenly very proud of her hero.

They enjoyed their stay in Rivendell to the full. Gala made friends with the two elven smiths who still remained there – all the greatest masters of that craft, those who had reforged Narsil into Andúril, had been Noldor and followed Elrond beyond the sea. One of the remaining two was a gold-smith, the other a maker of tools and weapons. Gala and Elena gave the latter the task to make the hobbit maiden a blade, smaller than Sting but sharp. The smith suggested he make two such blades - one for both hands, or one for throwing and the other for stabbing. The gold-smith Gala approached in secret, and bought mithril and two diamonds from him. Then she used his forge and tools to craft two rings, flat bands of mithril with a decoration pattern of round holes drilled through them and a roundish-cut diamond each. Gala sold the leftover mithril shards back to the smith – every grain of the metal was precious.

On the tenth day they spent there the rings were ready, and Gilliam and Gala proclaimed their engagement. A feast was arranged unbelievably fast, for the following day, and all the people of Rivendell celebrated the union. There had been no engagement feast or a wedding in Rivendell for decades, and the younger musicians actually had trouble recalling some of the traditional songs.

The young couple received many gifts; from the lords of Rivendell, they got a small box full of jewels. Celeborn told Gala that she should design them herself into decorations for her and her beloved, and perhaps later their children. Elena had wondered long what she might give, and had even considered offering Gala to wear the mithil mail. But she knew the prophecy ordered it for the Morningstar. In the end, she chose a simple gift; she had asked the elf ladies to teach her their way of doing embroidery while she waited for her knives to be prepared. So she embroidered a silken veil Gala could use on her wedding day, and some handkerchiefs with their initials in curling elvish letters – GG for Gala daughter of Gimli, and GB for Gilliam Brandybuck. Gala was genuinely grateful for these, since she knew absolutely nothing about embroidery and couldn't even sew much with her special fingernals – not that she would have liked to. That was not her craft. But if Elena were going to live with them one day, at least there would be someone to do such work in the family. Gilliam too was grateful, and also quite exited – the food and drink served at the feast alone were enough to make it a perfect day. Mircal's gift was royal indeed: two wine goblets of gold decorated with emeralds and rubies in a fine pattern of grapevine. When asked where he got them, he admitted he had purchased them from some Rangers - a few of these hardy men still dwelled in Rivendell, choosing the domain of elves rather than the realm of Elessar.

Towards the end of the feast, a surprise guest appeared; Neldohír, the youngest Prince of the Wood. He was wearing his best clothes and carrying three bundles.

'I apologise for entering this hall uninvited. Am I welcome?' He asked.

'You are welcome here, your highness. How did you know of the feast?' Elladan asked.

'Our wizard has her sources of information, and the trees in the valley whispered of many hunters and long-forgotten songs. I have come to bring my congratulations and those of my two companions. Niphredil the Green says that she will not leave Narannon alone, but they feel no bitterness towards you.' Neldored spoke in a quiet yet firm voice, looking Elladan in the eyes.

'Then their honour puts our hospitality to shame. We have just finished giving gifts to the couple. Would you like to join us at the table, or perhaps offer a song? I remember the magic of your wordless voice.' Celeborn stated.

'The gift-giving is not finished before I have given mine and those of my companions, my lords!' Neldohír declared.

He opened the first parcel and revealed a wooden pan-flute.

'These are no ordinary pipes. I have carved them myself and they call each a different bird. The trush, the nightingale, the raven, the kestrel, and the eagle. It may be useful to you some day, perhaps in Rhûn.' The half-Ent handed the pipes to Gilliam.

'An eagle-call? Would Gwaihir respond to it?' Gilliam was awed.

'Only if he was close enough to hear it. Niphredil, I think, could call him from almost anywhere. Which brings me to her gift.' Neldohír opened the second parcel. It contained one black-fletched arrow.

'This arrow is one of the two remaining Black Arrows of Valimar, the others Niphredil has already given away. They symbolize a warning but also a plea for help. So if you some day shall need her help, send this arrow to her. Any kestrel or eagle summoned by the flute will take it to her, and I will teach you how to call other falcon birds by the kestrel pipe too. And last of all, there is Narannon's gift. He used the skill of the only profession he has ever mastered to make you these, and in only ten days.' He took out two pairs of shoes.

The first one was a sturdy pair of fur-lined winter shoes in Gilliam's size.

'Niphredil told us you would need these once snow is on the ground.' Neldohír explained.

The second pair was made for Gala. She already had dwarven walking shoes, so Narannon had fashioned her graceful boots of white leather trimmed with ermine.

'My friend the shoemaker would be honoured if you wore these today, and in any feasts you may attend, perhaps even on your wedding day.' The Prince of the Wood said.

'Oh! They are so beautiful. Thank you, and thank the others, too. I had not given a thought to the fact that Narannon must have a craft, too. We do not deserve this. I promise I will wear them proudly.' Gala said.

'I thank you all too. I wonder if we should leave the most precious gifts here in Rivendell – I mean, we are going to fight monsters, among them a gold-hungry dragon. The goblets, the jewels, perhaps these boots and that pretty veil Elena made too – it would be terrible if they got torn.' Gilliam pointed out.

'On the other hand, if our return is delayed, I would like to have them with me – the veil and boots, I mean. These would interest no dragon. Perhaps I might need them.' Gala argued.

'Oh. I see.' Gilliam blushed. His bethrothed kissed him, laughing for pure joy.

Neldohír refused to eat or drink, or to join the songs and dances. He still had his dislike for crowds, although the experience at Starlight had strenghtened his confidence – none of the people had noticed his strangeness, which was mild compared to poor Narannon, Narannon who had stood so bold and calm among his accusers. Before he departed the lords of Rivendell gave him a message of thanks and apologies, declaring the companions could now all come into the valley if they wished. No artisan who made such beautiful things as Gala's boots, and gave them as a gift of friendship at a party he was not invited to, could have an evil heart – the people of Rivendell would certainly understand.

But for two weeks all three remained in the hills. October ended, the last leaves lost their green to autumn colours, branches were barer day by day. In the streams red leaves floated, and the hills shed their radiant colours under darkening skies. Ents would have called the season 'night-of-the-growing-year-when-trees-fall-asleep'** and much more words like that, Neldohír thought. They practiced with their weapons, and even Neldohír learned to hunt. Narannon was getting swift with his axe and Neldohír now lost their practice fights almost as often as his friend. But Niphredil beat them both, not only in archery contests, but facing them both at the same time with only her staff for a weapon. At first they thought she used some magic, but she told them the only spell was one that prevented the pinewood from breaking. It didn't harm their blades, but Niphredil always managed to throw their weapons from their hands.

The Green Wizard assured them she wasn't invincible;

'I would fear to face Gala in a battle – she would cut my staff in two with her knife and saw fingers, and unstring my bow with a touch! And then she would beat me senseless with the hammer. She is half maiarin like I, of lesser blood perhaps, but my hobbit half is no match for the dwarf in her!'

In the valley, Gala and Gilliam enjoyed their romance, but Mircal made sure they honed their battle skills, too. He had taken the responsibility to find teachers and volunteer opponents for the three youngsters, and would make sure they attended the lessons he arranged. Sometimes Elladan and Elrohír themselves did the teaching. The elven smith had seen Elena succeed well in a competition of throwing darts at the engagement feast, and offered her not two but four knives; one a dagger, the others a shape the elves called wing-dagger that could be either held or thrown at an enemy. Elena had indeed the talent fairly common among hobbits to hit what she aimed, be it with a stone or a knife that she had never tried before. She was not strong enough to draw a large bow like Niphredil, so the knives were a perfect choice. She began to feel herself quite a warrior, with two knive-hilts hanging from the pearly belt of her mithril armour and the other two strapped to her arms.

'Boots would be another place to strap them to, if only you wore any!' The smith grinned.

The name of the smith was Angil***, and he and Elena became friends. Angil was hundreds of years old, but looked about Mircal's age. Mircal spent most of his free time with his relatives. For a while, the Company was scattered. One day, when Angil was showing Elena some metal statuettes - made by a technique that was now lost - in one of the smaller halls, a woman entered. She looked familiar, and Elena suddenly realised she resembled the images of Queen Arwen on the golden coins in Niphredil's purse. She had brown hair piled in an orderly style on her head, decorated with feathers and diamonds. Her face was pale and her deep blue eyes somehow like Mircal's but more beautiful. She was clothed in flowing robes of blue satin, embroidered more richly in gold and silver than any woman's robes she had seen even at the feast. Elena curtsied in an awkward imitation of a formal elven movement, and remained down, for she felt this woman must be an important person, a relative of the lords, perhaps.

'You may rise, Elena Morningstar. Your fame will be greater than mine, here in the North at least. I am Calammiriel****, daughter of Elessar.'

'Oh! You are Mircal's sister! He has mentioned you once or twice. Your highness.'

'I am his twin. Please call me Miriel, my brother does, and all his friends.'

'All right – Miriel. I had no idea we would meet you here!'

'I came in secret, to surprise my brother. He was quite surprised. I often come and go about in secret, and back home I am called 'the veiled princess'. It is very practical – when I travel away I give my maid my clothes and only the family and trusted friends know she isn't me. I bet you hadn't even heard there is a princess in Gondor before Mircal told you.'

'It's true. I hadn't, although I recall having heard your father the King had three children.'

'I would love to talk more with you, and perhaps I shall have the opportunity later. But I came here to find Angil, for I would request him to do some small work for me.'

'I would be honoured, your highness', Angil said, and led the princess towards the smithy.

However, Elena didn't see Miriel again, and Angil too seemed to be busy with whatever the princess had asked him to do. One day, waiting outside the smithy door for Angil to take her to a walk in the gardens as he had promised, Mircal came to her.

'Hello, Elena! Why are you sitting here when it's such a beautiful day out there?'

'It is a beautiful day, and Angil promised to take me for a walk, but he is working on something secret for your sister.'

'I see. I think I know what it is Miriel asked him, and if I had her permission I would tell you. It is nothing we need to worry about, however. I'll go in and ask if it's all right that I take you for a walk instead.' He went in came back soon.

'Angil is very sorry, but he has promised to work as fast as he can – Miriel is in a hurry. He had completely forgotten about the walk. Come now, Elena, don't look so glum! Is my company such a disappointment?'

'No, but the lack of Angil's is.' Elena looked at her hairy toes.

'I see. Is it possible that our little Elena could be jealous?' Mircal teased her.

'What! On Friday the first and no sooner!' Elena shouted, her face turning red.

'Pardon?'

'Oh, it's just a hobbit way of saying 'never'. You see, our calendar has no Friday the first.' Elena explained, ashamed of her outburst now.

'I see. So what do you feel for Angil?' Mircal inquired.

'Well, I do like him. He worked hard to make me the knives, and would take no payment, so I owe him a favour and he is a good friend. But I'm not jealous, because I find no reason to be. It is only business he has with Miriel, or else he would tell me. It is business, isn't it, Mircal?' Elena sounded worried now.

'It must be, and nothing personal most likely. Miriel loves to have secrets even when there is no need. Besides, if my sister wanted a romantic gift, would she have an ironworker do it? When Rivendell has, not only Master Mallar, but Gala daughter of Gimli as well?' Mircal pointed out with logic worthy of his wise parents.

'What is your sister like? I mean behind her secrets.' Elena asked.

'Well, she doesn't share everything even with her family. Our mother knows her best. Calammiriel was my closest playmate when we were children. Back then, she was like any little girl. However, something happened. When she was first dressed in a grown woman's gown, and introduced to the court – she hated it all. The young men who sought her attention only because she was a beautiful princess, the superficial conversation of the noble young ladies, the older ladies and their attempts to introduce her to suitable husband-candidates, and most of all the loss of privacy. In the citadel a retinue of ladies-in-waiting always followed her, out in the city she could go nowhere without guards surrounding her. So she ran away, and I helped her. I gave her some of my ordinary clothes, a boy's clothes, and she left the City as a young vagabond – for my clothes were never prettier than those of a stableboy. You see, my father knew how a prince should be raised humble, from his own experience. Of princesses, however, his only model was my mother. Too bad Calammiriel did not fit the mould. I got into trouble having helped her, and into more trouble when my father refused to believe I had no idea of Miriel's whereabouts. Two years went by, and the people knew only that the princess had travelled away. She returned to Eldarion's knightmaking, dressed and veiled like an Umbarian lady, with two tan-faced handmaidens beside her. Only my mother noticed the illusion: Calammiriel was not the veiled woman, but the taller handmaiden, her skin baked brown by the southern sun, her hair dyed dark and her body now that of a woman grown. My parents forgave her everything and even allowed her to keep this new privacy. So Calammiriel travels, always in safe company, from friendly land to another, on plans and errands know to her alone. And only those who know her or her mother see when the princess they meet is real and when an illusion. She has at least four servants who look like her when royally dressed – and she makes sure that only one princess can be seen at a time. As far as the people are concerned, she has only left Gondor in formal parades.' Mircal told the story of his sister convincingly - perhaps a bit too convincingly, as if he had practiced it many times.

Elena didn't meet Miriel again. She had left soon after Angil had prepared whatever work the princess had requested, without even meeting Celeborn. Elena wondered if the princess had been the real one, or one of her maidens. Celeborn had left Rivendell too, for a while. Nobody was sure why.

*I suppose we would call it a sestina. It is an italian invention. I learned to love it from Neil Gaiman. (Smoke and Mirrors.) I'm not sure if rhyming makes this an improper sestina.

**With this, I approve of Americans using the word 'fall' in their Tolkien fanfiction to mean 'autumn'. (Meriadoc is really Kalímac and all that other cool westron translation stuff the professor thought up for the appendixes…)

*** 'Ironstar'. Sindarin.

**** 'Woman crowned with shining jewels'. Quenyan. But also the feminine mirror-name derived from 'Mircal', 'Jewelshine'.